


The Discipline of Paperweight

by Macremae



Series: Mind/Body/Spirit [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Cooking Lessons, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Recovery, Time Skips, Trans Newton Geiszler, panick attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: In his college years, Newt Geiszler learned very, very quickly that the way to a teacher or colleage's heart was through their stomach. Thus, he got really good at cooking. Now free from the Precursors' control, he's ready to enjoy the good things in life again, including making (and eating) his favorite foods.There's just one, tiny, isty-bitsy problem.





	The Discipline of Paperweight

**Author's Note:**

> the following contains a very, VERY explicit depiction of anorexia and bullimia (mentioned); please read responsibly. this is based off my own experience with eating disorders, and i did my best to give proper dues to what the recovery process really looks like. for those of you also suffering from these illnesses: you have always been perfect, and you have never been alone. recovery is always an option. stay safe <33333

I.  
Newt Geiszler, owner of six PhDs, youngest MIT graduate ever, and wunderkind genius extraordinaire, stares at the applesauce in front of him and tries to remember how to eat.

He presses his lips together and glares at the offending carton of mashed fruit as if it might suddenly transport itself into his stomach just by sheer force of will, but to no avail. The applesauce just sits there. Being applesauce. Mockingly.

“Fuck,” he mutters aloud.

Next to him, Hermann glances over worriedly. “Newton?” he asks, “Are you alright?” Newt is unable to tear his eyes away from the nutrition label, so he just sort of nods blandly.

“Yeah, babe, I’m fine. Just not that hungry.”

“I know medical said to start your stomach on easily digestible foods, but if you don’t like it I can get something else,” Hermann suggests kindly. “Maybe some soup? Oatmeal?” He pauses for a moment, then gives Newt a mischievous smile. “I think there’s some ice cream in the kitchens we could--”

“No!” Newt yelps without thinking, gripping his jeans tightly. “I-- no. Thank you. I’m good.”

Hermann frowns. “You don’t… want ice cream? I thought you loved it.”

Oh, see, that’s the thing: Newt does. He really, really fucking does. A bowl of cookie dough ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles sounds fucking _amazing_ right now. No, not just a bowl; an entire goddamn carton. And a sugar cone just for the fuck of it.

But there’s something niggling in the back of his brain, some little voice that takes every image he conjures of that bowl and slaps a big old red label on it that reads, “NOT ALLOWED”. You don’t _need_ it, it says. You don’t deserve it. Just look at you.

Newt grits his teeth. “I guess I just sort of lost my taste for sugar. Sucks, but, oh well.” He pushes the applesauce aside and gets up from his seat. “You can finish your dinner, dude. I’m gonna go take a walk.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Hermann calls after him, concern in every note of his voice. _Yes_ , Newt thinks, _yes, God, I could literally eat anything right now; I’m starving_.

“No,” he replies, and keeps his eyes to the ground as he walks out of the mess hall.

II.  
Vanessa Lucretia Valentine Gottlieb logs in to the cafe’s wifi on her rose gold iPhone 17 and checks the door for the fourteenth time. He’s late. Asshole.

She bounces her leg on the chair and brushes a strand of hair from her sticky lips. It has been exactly fifteen minutes since she and Newt were supposed to meet for their “get Newt some proper clothes that aren’t screamingly fugly” date, and she’s starting to get impatient. One would think, she supposes, that a guy wracked with guilt over almost ending the world would make a bit of an effort not to inconvenience his friend, but apparently that is not the case. Vanessa scowls. She is going to _judo flip_ him.

Finally, about three minutes later, Newt bursts through the cafe doors as if he’s just escaped from a pack of wild drag queens. He spots Vanessa and visibly pales. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow and taps the table with her fingernails. 

“God, I’m so sorry I’m late,” Newt says, sliding into the chair across from her. “Hermann and I were--”

“I don’t care about your sex life,” she interrupts. “We have exactly twelve hours to completely revamp your wardrobe, and I don’t like being rushed. So: fuck you.” Vanessa catches the eye of a nearby waiter and nods him over. He pulls out a notepad and looks at Newt expectantly.

Newt almost seems to flinch. “Oh. Uh, just a coffee please. Two Splendas. Thanks.”

“We’ll also split one of those mini pies,” Vanessa adds. “Apple, if you still have it.”

The waiter nods and leaves, while Newt gives Vanessa a look. “What the hell was that for?”

She blinks. “Hermann said you always liked when the cafeteria served pie. They have really cute mini pies here. Is there a problem?”

“Oh. Uh.” Newt glances down at the table, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just don’t really like sugar anymore. Probably some weird Precursor side effect or something.”

The tiniest of warning bells goes off in her brain. Vanessa narrows her eyes. “You don’t like sugar.”

“Yeah?”

“Because you were possessed.”

Newt looks nervous. “That’s probably correct.”

“Mmhm.” Vanessa gives him a very long, intense look. “So you’re telling me that, because of the aliens possessing your brain for the last ten years, something happened in said brain that made you not like the taste of sweet things?”

Newt is refusing to return her gaze. “Yep.”

There is dead silence for a solid thirty seconds, before Vanessa drums her nails exactly once on the table and says, with terrifying certainty, “Bullshit.”

Newt glances up, reddening. “What?”

“You heard me,” she says brightly, “bullshit. That’s not how brains work. I took psych in college. You can’t turn off taste receptors by getting possessed.”

“Well, I--” Newt sputters, but Vanessa holds up a hand to stop him.

“Newt,” she says carefully, “how much do you weigh right now?”

Newt stares down at his lap and mumbles something Vanessa can’t hear. She snaps her fingers. “Newt, please. Speak up.”

“One twenty-five,” he says quietly. Vanessa lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“Oh, Newt. Oh, baby. That’s not good.”

He turns redder. “I-- I know.”

“I mean, that’s way below a healthy weight for a guy of your height and age.”

Newt begins to fidget with his fingers in his lap. “Yeah. Anako says I need to get it up to at least one forty.”

“And how,” Vanessa asks with uncharacteristic gentleness, “is getting a black coffee and no pie gonna help with that? There’s gotta be something here that you like.” She pauses, then realizes something. “But it’s not about the taste, is it? It’s about the food itself.”

Newt nods meekly. “I just don’t really get hungry that much anymore.”

Vanessa snorts. “Bullshit number two. Newt, did the Precursors just not feed you or something?” When he says nothing, her face turns serious. “Newt. They did let you eat, right?”

He stubs the toe of his boot against the floor. “I mean, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Barely! What the hell were they feeding you, vitamins and rice cakes?”

“Pretty much,” Newt replies. “They didn’t really like human food.”

Vanessa closes her mouth and considers her next words very carefully, watching Newt for any signs of trouble. When none appear, she says with as much gentle frankness as she can muster, “Newt, you do realize what this means, right? You have an eating disorder.”

Newt flinches. “You don’t have to say it so loud.”

“Are your doctors having you do anything about it?”

“They just know I’m underweight because of the Precursors,” he says. “They don’t know about the whole… not liking food thing.”

Vanessa frowns. “So nobody is helping you out with this?”

Newt shrinks in on himself. “I-- I don’t want to bother people more than I already am.”

She opens her mouth to contradict him, but closes it. Taps her fingers on the table. Thinks. “Newt,” she says, “I am going to help you. And you are doing me a favor by letting me help you.”

Newt raises his eyebrows. “You.”

“Yes.”

“Are going to help me.”

“That’s correct.”

He huffs out a dry laugh. “‘Ness, how the hell are you qualified for this?”

“Because,” she says candidly, “if I recovered from my eating disorder, so can you.”

Newt goes still and blinks a few times in disbelief. “Wait-- what?”

Vanessa nods. “Yeah, Newt, I’m a model. It’s one of the most toxic and fatphobic industries in the world. Most of the people I work with have or are in recovery from eating disorders.”

“But,” he sputters, “you’re so--”

“Built?” she says with a grin. “Yeah, dude, I’ve got muscles. I worked hard for them. But I used to be really, really skinny. Like, more underweight than you are, skinny. I just had to realize that being strong did me a lot more good.”

She flexes a toned bicep to prove her point, and Newt can’t help but feel a little homesick for his formerly strong arms. He liked being able to lift stuff easily and show them off in a tank top (mainly to fluster Hermann on hot days in the lab). It made him feel powerful. Now his limbs have atrophied from malnutrition and days spent locked away, and he gets winded after running for barely a minute. It fucking sucks.

Vanessa gives him a sympathetic look. “Don’t you want to be healthy again?”

And Newt realizes that yeah, he really does. He wants to be able to lift Hermann in his arms and spin him around, and carry samples and boxes with ease, and not be so freaking cold all the time (and, y’know, have enough stamina for sex). 

“I’m gonna help you,” Vanessa says firmly. “As your friend, and your sister-in-law. Trust me on this one, Newt: I know what I’m doing.”

She watches Newt think it over and nod, proud of him for accepting this help, but her mind can’t help but drift back to years and years ago… 

_Rewind_  
Breakfast: one cup of skim milk, one tangerine. One hundred thirty calories.

Lunch: one small iced latte, one bag of white cheddar popcorn. One hundred eighty calories.

Dinner: one egg, sunny side up, one cup of skim milk, one Babybel Light Mini cheese. Two hundred eleven calories.

Total for the day: five hundred twenty-one calories.

Vanessa finishes logging her meals in the app in her phone and smiles. She didn’t go over today. Fucking nice. The warm, fuzzy feeling of a day well planned settles in her chest like a candle, and she gives a pleased little shiver. Then, she pulls her blouse over her head, steps out of her jeans, and walks to the bathroom of her apartment.

The stark lighting plays on her soft brown skin, highlighting the concave planes of her stomach and ribs poking out from her chest. She runs her thin fingers over the ridges, savoring the way she can feel each individual one. The sharp drop off from the last rib to her stomach is like a cliffside in its severity. Her hip bones poke out before curving down to stick-like legs, the insides of her thighs miles apart. Vanessa fingers her collarbones, the bones looking as if they’re carved from stone. She scowls.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, “they’re less prominent than yesterday.” She shouldn’t have had that coffee. One hundred and ten calories too many. She can feel the sugar coagulating in her stomach, seeping into her digestive system and layering her bones with oozing, yellow fat. She wants to claw it off of her, dig her fingernails underneath her skin and scrape the flesh off her bones until only a pale skeleton remains.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s never going to be enough for her. One o’ five, one hundred, ninety; she’ll never be happy until the number on that scale reads zero. Zero pounds, zero calories, zero space taken up by what’s left of a wispy little memory of a girl. Vanessa is so goddamn tired of existing, of being a bother and a problem for everyone around her. She isn’t a person anymore. She’s just a liability for her friends.

Then again, who cares? This is her business, both in terms of privacy and the fact that, as a model, it’s literally her job to be skinny. She’s doing fine. Maybe she’ll keep living and get more jobs and be happy. Maybe all her organs will fail and she’ll die. Either way: fine by Vanessa.

She traces her ribs one last time before turning the light off and leaving the bathroom. Tomorrow is a new day, another twenty four hours to get through before she can weigh herself again and see if progress has been made. She can do this. She can make it.

Everything is absolutely fine.

III.  
Vanessa instructs him to meet him at a place called “Ty-Lin’s Gym” on the east side of Tokyo, and to dress for a workout. Newt expects some weight lifting, maybe a few miles on the treadmill, and is filled with dread the entire drive there. However, when he walks in the door, Vanessa is standing in the middle of a boxing ring with her curls pulled back in a tight ponytail and holding a roll of sports tape. Newt gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach. 

“Vanessa?” he asks. “What the hell is this?”

“The first step of your treatment plan,” she says, wrapping the tape around her knuckles. “It’s time for you to get back in touch with your body.”

Newt frowns. “What do you mean?”

Vanessa tears off the end of the tape and flexes one hand. “Your problem is different from most cases of anorexia,” she explains. “You didn’t stop eating because you wanted to lose weight or because you thought you were fat. Your mind has now literally been trained to see food as a frivolous and unnecessary thing. The Precursors wanted to starve you into submission, as well as look a certain way, so they gave you just enough to keep you alive-- and that’s what you’re used to. Why fuel your body when you’re so out of touch with it, you don’t pay attention to what it needs?” She moves onto wrapping the other hand, taking the tape around in slow, methodical motions. “So: we’re going to help you focus on what that body can do, and build your confidence at the same time.”

“By boxing,” Newt says flatly. Vanessa nods.

“Yep. You’re kind of the world’s most wanted. You should know how to defend yourself.”

Newt glares at her. “You do realize a massive part of my trauma is because of how I hurt people, right?”

She finishes the other hand. “I’m aware.”

“So how the hell is this supposed to not give me a panic attack?”

Vanessa gives him a smug grin. “Because, sweetie. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried really, really hard-- and not just because you can’t reach. Now:” she tosses the tape at him, “wrap your hands and get up here. It’s time to get your ass kicked by your boyfriend’s ex-wife.”

He clumsily wraps the tape around his fingers the way she did and climbs into the ring. Vanessa slides into a fighting stance and holds her fists up. “Keep your feet apart,” she instructs, “with one foot back, and your fists in front of your face. Put your weight on your back foot. Thumbs stay outside your other fingers; if you tuck them, you’ll break them. Shift your shoulders so one is pointed towards me. Bend your knees.”

Newt does as she says, his entire body tensing. She appears to notice this, and shakes her head. “Relax. If you’re nervous, you’ll put too much energy into your swings and not enough into the rest of your body. Loosen your muscles and save it for the fight.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, then focuses on letting the tension drain from his body. It pools somewhere beneath him, and he flexes his toes. Vanessa nods. “Good. Better. Now, I assume you’ve at least thrown a punch before?”

Newt nods. “Yeah, but never one that worked. Dunno if you figured this out, but I got beat up as a kid a lot.”

“Omigod, wig,” she replies sarcastically. “No kidding, dipshit, you’re annoying and you don’t know when shut up. Now focus. Pull your arm back and clench your fist, but let your elbow curve around your body to touch your back.” She demonstrates the motion slowly. “Then, swing it in an arch and let your knuckles hit your target at an angle. Don’t punch straight on, just let the movement flow.”

Vanessa finishes the punch in slow motion, then demonstrates it at a high speed. “See?”

Newt copies her, but she shakes her head. “You’re not looking where you’re hitting. Keep your eyes on the target and don’t let your head jerk. Try again.”

He throws the punch again. This time, she says, “Now you’re jerking your arm. It’s a smooth motion. Let it be fluid; you’re not a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot. Again.”

Newt punches the air. She nods. “Better. Again.”

He does it again, then a third time, and a fourth. It feels… strange. He can feel the air as his fist cuts through it, the movement of his muscles as they tense and flex. The sensation is almost alien, but Newt finds he doesn’t quite hate it.

“Okay,” says Vanessa, “now this next one may be a pretty new concept to you, but we’re gonna try it anyway: dodging.”

Newt snorts. “Nah, I’m actually pretty good at that.”

“Lambert took you out in one hit.”

“No, he took _the Precursors_ out in one hit. Dumbasses were so busy throwing a temper tantrum that they didn’t notice the six-foot-tall blonde guy right behind them.”

“Like you’re any more perceptive,” Vanessa shoots back. “Now watch me. I keep my eyes on the target at all times, but my body still moves to dodge the attack. We’re still keeping with that theme of fluid motion. Nothing is jerky or sudden, it’s all a dance. Okay?”

Newt keeps his gaze on her, but moves his shoulders to the side. “Like that?”

She nods. “Keep trying to stay relaxed, but yeah. Now, I’m gonna try a slow punch, and you’re gonna dodge it. Ready?”

Newt nods. She takes a few steps forward, then draws her arm back and slowly goes through the motion. Newt moves out of the way, keeping his shoulders up and trying to focus on the feeling of the movement. Vanessa steps back and claps twice. “Good!”

Embarrassingly, Newt feels a rush of happiness at the praise. He ducks his head to hide the blush. “Uh, thanks.”

“Now,” she says, “we’re gonna try a really small fight. Just for a minute or two. Remember what I told you, and follow your instincts. They’re there for a reason. I’ll go easy, okay?”

Newt gulps. “Uh. I-- I don’t know…”

Vanessa gives him a soft smile. “Newt. Relax. You’re not gonna hurt me. I won’t let you. This is all in a safe space, and nothing bad is going to happen. Trust me.”

He lets out a long breath and flexes his fingers to let the tension out. _It’s fine_ , he tells himself, _she’s way better at this than you, and there’s people everywhere in case something goes wrong. They’re not in your head anymore. They’re gone. Just chill out._

“Okay,” he says, and shifts into the stance Vanessa showed him earlier. She nods and does the same. “Lay it on me.”

Vanessa eyes him for a few seconds before darting forward and swinging at his shoulder. Newt leaps back without thinking, heart beginning to beat faster. He takes a few steps around her and keeps his fists close to his face. Vanessa throws another punch, and he dodges.

“Smooth movements,” she reminds him. “Keep your shoulders up.”

He dodges the next two punches she throws, but still doesn’t give any of his own. Vanessa huffs. “Try one yourself, Newt. It’s not gonna kill me.”

“Dude, I’m not going to punch you--” he begins, but Vanessa leans back and swings at his face in one lightning fast movement. Out of instinct, Newt ducks his head before coming up and jabbing a fist at her face. She dodges easily, but grins.

“Good! Do it again!”

Adrenaline coursing through his body, Newt swings at her again. This time, she grabs his fist in midair and pushes it down to his waist. He stumbles forward, and she moves out of the way gracefully. “Not fast enough! Try again.”

Newt snorts frustratedly and plants his foot before spinning around and aiming another punch. She ducks out of the way, bends at the waist, and grabs his ankle before yanking it up and sending him sprawling. Newt lands flat on his back and yelps.

Vanessa stands over him and tilts her head to the side. “Dude. Are you even trying?”

He lets out a grunt and scrambles to his feet. “No,” he snaps, “didn’t you get the memo? I am literally terrified of hurting you!”

He throws another half-hearted punch, but Vanessa seizes his arm and flips him head over heels. Newt lands flat on his back, again, all the wind knocked out of him. 

“Well that’s clearly not gonna happen if you keep at it like this. Not gonna lie, Newtie, it’s kinda pathetic. Dunno how you were able to lift up Hermann by the throat with _those_ muscles.”

Newt pushes himself up with a frustrated cry and throws his fist at her with all his might. She dodges. “Nope. Try again.”

He swings again, and she sidesteps it like it’s nothing. “Seriously, Newt, if you’re just gonna let me win, we might as well just go home.”

Again. “This is starting to get boring.”

And again. “Jesus Christ, now it’s just embarrassing.”

And again. “Like, no offense, but if this is an indication of how strong your mind was? No wonder those guys got in so easily.”

That right there fucking does it. Newt lets out a scream and swings at her, except when she dodges this time, his other hand is there to meet her. He grabs Vanessa’s shoulder and, atrophied muscles straining, shoves her across the ring. She stumbles backwards, catching herself just before she hits the ropes, and raises her eyebrows. “Okay. Good. Now things are getting interesting.”

But Newt isn’t done quite yet. He rushes forward and slams his shoulder into her chest, pushing backwards some more. Vanessa makes a sort of squeaking sound, but quickly recovers and grabs his hand. She yanks, spins him around, and aims a square kick at his back that sends him tumbling to the floor below. He’s still on his hands and knees though, so Newt rolls out of the way of her second kick and reaches for her foot. He grabs it and pulls it out from under her so that she lands on her back, then scrambles forward and climbs on top of her.

“Oh, fuck off!” Vanessa yells, and links her legs around his back so that when she rolls over, she ends up on top. Newt screeches and aims a punch at her face, but she dodges and hits his chest. He swings again, and this time manages to clip the side of her cheek. While she’s distracted with that, Newt grabs her by the shoulders and rolls over himself. 

“Now look who’s winning!” he pants. Vanessa scowls, dodges a punch aimed at her face, and slams her palm into his forehead. Newt jerks back and yowls. “Jesus, fuck!”

Without thinking, he jabs his heel into her side, knees her in the chest, and when she jerks up and gasps, he puts a hand on her throat and pushes her head back down. Finally able to breathe for a second, Newt grins semi-hysterically. “Yeah! Who’s strong enough now, huh? Who’s the fucking weak one this time?”

Worry flashes over Vanessa’s face. “Wait, hold on, Newt--” she begins, but he interrupts her.

“You thought I was just some stupid little retard who ate brain tumors for breakfast, but which one of us just got blasted into the dead zone?” he hisses, the world beginning to go oddly fuzzy at the edges. “You locked me up for ten goddamn years, and tortured me, and starved me, and made me go crazier than a fucking loon, but you still couldn’t manage to beat me, could you? Because you guys are _pathetic_ and _useless_ , and such massively weak pieces of shit that two nerds and pile of garbage were able to beat you! So don’t you _dare_ go telling me that I’m not strong enough, when I survived having my body _and_ mind be literally torn apart for over a decade! Now I’m gonna ask you bastards one more time: _what’s my goddamn name_?”

“Newt!” Vanessa shouts, grabbing his wrist and digging her fingers in. “Hey, hey, hey, snap out of it!”

Newt freezes. 

He sees his hand around Vanessa’s throat. 

His entire body goes ice cold.

“I…” he says, but his throat closes up almost immediately, and he scrambles backwards. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, oh my God Vanessa I’m so sorry--”

She quickly sits up and holds up her hands. “Newt, it’s okay, you didn’t hurt me--”

“I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to-- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Newt, hey, look at me--”

Newt presses himself back against the ropes and curls in on himself, his breath coming in short little gasps. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m--”

Vanessa crawls forward, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly. “Newt! Breathe! Focus on me; it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not mad at you. Do you understand? I am not upset or angry. I just want you to breathe right now. Can you do that for me?”

Newt opens his eyes the tiniest bit, still drawn away from her. Vanessa’s face is full of concern and care; she looks genuinely worried for him. He relaxes the tiniest bit. “I-- okay. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she says gently, squeezing his hands twice. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my fault, okay? You’re not the bad guy. Your PTSD just got the better of you. It happens. All you need to do is take deep breaths in, and let them out slowly. Listen to the sound of my voice and breathe.”

Newt forces himself to take a deep breath in and let it out, his entire body shaking. He breathes in again, then lets it out, and takes another breath. In and out. He can do this. He’s okay.

Vanessa leans back on her knees and pulls him out of his flinch, drawing their clasped hands into the space between them. She squeezes them again. “Good job, Newt. You’re doing really well. Keep breathing, okay? Just let your body recover.”

Newt does as she says, letting the soft sound of her voice be the only thing he hears. He pushes his shoulders down and opens up a tiny bit. Vanessa smiles. “There you go. Much better. I’m really proud of you, Newt.”

Newt sucks in a breath sharply. “I-- why? I-- I could’ve hurt you!”

“No you couldn’t. I let you have all of those hits. You needed to get that anger out of your system in a safe environment before it festered into something a lot more dangerous. I was trying to goad you into getting mad at me. Newt, you took those feelings inside of you and turned them into something really productive and powerful. You held your own in a fight! You’re right! You really are strong enough! You needed to prove that to yourself! I didn’t expect things to go that far, and I certainly didn’t mean for you to panic, but I’m really fucking proud of you!”

Vanessa beams at him, and Newt blinks. “I… I was good?”

“Yeah!” she exclaims. “Newt, you were spectacular!”

Newt lets out a small breath. “Huh. I… I mean, it did kinda feel good to hit something.”

“Exactly!” Vanessa says excitedly. “This is your body; this is what it can do. Take care of it, and you’ll be able to do even more. Catch my drift?”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

Vanessa gets to her feet and holds out a hand to help him up. “You did really good today, bud. You should be proud.”

Newt takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. “I… Thank you.”

“C’mon,” she says, ducking under the ropes and climbing out of the ring, “you earned a nice lunch. Let’s go get dumplings.”

Newt feels a tiny stab of panic in his chest at the thought of it, but shakes his head to push it down. He likes dumplings. He likes Chinese food. He’s gonna be fine.

“Sure,” he says, “dumplings actually sound pretty good right now.”

IV.  
“Hermann,” says Vanessa pointing at his neck, “your collar is flapping.”

Hermann glances down and goes slightly pink. “Ah. Would you mind--?” he begins, but Vanessa is already stepping forward and fiddling with the sides of his collar.

“The little buttons came undone,” she says, pushing one through the hole. “They’re really fucking tiny though. Jesus.”

They’re standing chest to chest, almost at eye level (if not for the fact that Vanessa is a great deal taller than Hermann), and if someone were to walk in right now, assumptions would be made. The two of them, however, barely even consider this. Hermann enjoys the feeling of warm hands touching him gently, and Vanessa delights in fussing over her best friend. They’re effortlessly comfortable around each other, trading contact like the glittery stickers they coveted as children. It’s true, solid friendship in its simplest form.

Vanessa finishes with the buttons and steps back, patting him on the chest. “Looking sharp, babe. Almost makes me forget why I divorced you.”

“You wanted to marry my sister,” Hermann says flatly. She laughs.

“Oh yeah. Man, I’m smart. Anyway, how sore was Newt after our gym visit yesterday?”

“Extremely,” says Hermann. “He didn’t say a word of complaint, but I certainly felt it through the Drift. Almost made me forget about my own knee for a moment.”

Vanessa frowns. “Newt didn’t complain? Seriously?”

Hermann shakes his head. “Its unlike him. Back during the First War, he always had something to say when he was inconvenienced. Now he doesn’t even curse when he drinks his coffee too hot. I’m worried for him.”

“He told me he felt like a burden to everybody,” Vanessa says. “Maybe he’s scared that if he acts like he isn’t grateful for every little thing, people will get mad at him. The Precursors gave him the bare minimum of necessities for ten years. He’s probably used to just scraping by and not being allowed to complain about it.”

Hermann frowns. “I do hope that’s not the case. I’d hate for him to feel unwanted by me.”

Vanessa pats his shoulder twice. “So let him know he’s not. Good relationships need proper communication, Hermann. I know talking about your feelings isn’t exactly your strong suit, but Newt needs to be told he’s loved. He needs praise and reinforcement, and a lot of physical contact. Give him that, and he’ll be happy as a clam.”

“Is it really that simple?” Hermann asks.

“Do you remember how it was when we first started living together after you got out? You were scared of the littlest things: dropping dishes, making too much noise in the evening, forgetting to let out Alan Purring. And I promised you every time you panicked that I wasn’t gonna hurt you, or get mad, or do anything bad. We just watched movies and cuddled and tried to keep Alan from getting even fatter.” She smiles. “That’s what you do with an abuse victim, Hermann. You love them unconditionally, and gently, and you keep an eye on them so you can help if things so wrong. That’s what you’ve gotta do with Newt.” She kisses the top of his head. “But don’t worry. Something tells me you’re gonna be really good at taking care of him.”

Hermann reaches for her hand and squeezes it. “Thank you, ‘Nessa. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Vanessa squeezes back. “That’s ‘cause it’s true, dumbass.”

She loves Hermann. She loves him a lot. The warmth she feels in her chest, the warmth that used to come with a dropped pound or an inch lost, buzzes softly like a honeybee. It’s a good change, she thinks, from starving to full of love. The strength in her body is powerful, but she feels like her heart is even stronger.

Maybe that’s why Newt didn’t feel strong enough, after all those years alone. Maybe that’s why he feels stronger now.

V.  
They do end up going shopping for clothes after a few weeks, but for a very different reason. There’s a celebration gala being held for the heroes of Tokyo, and the PPDC seems to think it would be a good idea for Dr. Geiszler to attend. Put him back in a positive light, they say. Show everyone he isn’t crazy and allow people to get to know the real Newt. Simple.

Problem is, Newt has literally nothing to wear. 

Vanessa takes him to a menswear shop downtown that the Precursors never went to (the awkward questions and looks are not something she wants to inflict on him right now) and rattles off a few ideas to the man at the counter. He doesn’t appear to recognize Newt, and they both are visibly relieved when he leaves to bring out some swatches. Vanessa heads over to the tie section and thumbs through the selection.

“I know you’re into the skinny kind, but they’d look way out of place at a black tie function, so we’re gonna go with something a little nicer,” she says, and picks out a few. One is a dark plum, the other pale blue, and the third is navy with a pattern of little gold dots. “Thoughts?”

Newt looks at them carefully. “Uh. It’s just a tie, ‘Ness. Why do we need something so fancy? Couldn’t we just go to Kohls?”

Vanessa gives him a look. “The Precursors had literally nothing to go on when they started dressing you, didn’t they.”

“I didn’t really agree with their fashion choices.”

“I can tell.” She holds the dotted one to his chest, currently covered by one of Hermann’s cardigans and a too-large button down. “This would look nice with a white shirt, and we could use a gold tie bar to match the dots. Gold cufflinks, too.”

“Cufflinks?” says Newt. “Why do we need those?”

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “What part of ‘black tie’ do you not understand, dude? Cufflinks, Oxfords, the whole shebang. You want people to take you seriously, right?”

“Yeah, but dressing super fancy was one of the worst things about the last ten years. I hate dressing up.”

“Probably,” Vanessa says, “because those idiots wore everything too tight and too flashy. You looked like the CEO of Hot Topic. Stick with me here, and you won’t entirely hate what I pick out. Okay?”

Newt sighs heavily, but nods. “Fine. But no waistcoats.”

The salesperson comes back with some fabric swatches and a tape measure, and Newt strips to his undershirt and boxers and stands on the platform. He tenses as the man wraps the tape around his waist, then his chest and arms and legs. Vanessa keeps one eye on his face and another on the salesperson for any sign of recognition. The guy is holding essentially a plastic rope. They’re not taking any chances.

“I’ll be right back with the shirts,” he says, and leaves again. Vanessa takes the opportunity to walk around Newt, eyeing him up. He’s certainly still skinny, but it looks like progress is being made. His arms are starting to get some definition, the tattoos looking like their old selves again. Hermann’s shirt is a little tight over his stomach. She feels a rush of pride; damn, he’s good.

She catches Newt staring at himself in the three-way mirror, and frowns. “Newt? You okay there, buddy?”

Newt is quiet for a long moment. “It’s weird,” he says thoughtfully. “Seeing myself. I thought I would look different, and I do, but…” He swallows. “After all this time, it’s still me. Still my face, my body, my brain. They’re mine again. And I don’t really know how to feel about that.”

Newt holds a hand up to his face and lightly touches his cheek, as if he can’t quite believe it’s real. He flexes his hand. “Like I said: weird.”

Vanessa reaches up and takes his hand, squeezing it. “That tends to happen when you get control of your body back, dude. For me it was the same way.”

Newt looks down at her and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I spent so long fasting and purging and destroying myself, it became second nature. I couldn’t control it anymore. I would see food and ignore it without thinking, or I would eat normally and then immediately go to throw it up. I didn’t even consider the healthy option; my disorder just took over. I had no control over my own body. It was like this monstrous thing had taken over, and all it cared about was keeping food out of my stomach and dropping as many pounds as possible. And trust me, it took _a lot_ of work to take that life of mine back.” She looks up at Newt and smiles sadly. “You’re in for kind of a long haul, I’m afraid.”

Newt looks away, brow creasing. “How many years did it take you?” he asks.

Vanessa thinks for a moment, and does some quick counting in her head. “Hm. Well, I had the disorders for about two years, then there was my first intervention and I went into treatment. Was good for a few months, relapsed, and went into treatment again. Hermann moved in with me after that, and after one more purely mental breakdown, I finally got on a stable road to recovery.”

“Huh,” says Newt. “I didn’t know you could have a intervention for that sort of thing.”

“Oh yeah. And mine wasn’t pretty, either. Karla was on a dig, so it was just Hermann, but he really made one man feel like a hundred.” She lets go of his hand and looks away, memories already starting to stir…

 _Rewind_  
“Vanessa,” says Hermann from across the table, “I know you’re not eating.”

Vanessa looks up from her barely-touched dinner, startled. Her blood runs cold. “Uh. What?”

Hermann looks about as uncomfortable as she is, but presses on. “You never eat anything when I visit, you always seem tired, and you’re almost skin and bones. I’m worried about you.” He reaches over and pushes her plate towards her. “Will you please at least have a little more?”

Every defense in Vanessa’s mind goes up like a booby trap. “I’m fine, Hermann,” she snaps. “I just don’t need as much food as you. It’s cool.”

“No, it’s not,” he shoots back, worry furrowing his brow. “You need food to live, Vanessa. You’re already so thin; why do you need to starve yourself even more?”

Vanessa stands and pushes her chair in with a thump! “I think it’s time I headed out,” she says coldly. “It’s getting late.”

Hermann quickly grabs his cane and follows her to the hallway, grabbing her arm. His hand more than goes all the way around her wrist. “Vanessa, please--”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” she hisses, rounding on him. 

“You’re my friend-- your health is my business!” he shoots back.

“If you were really my friend, you’d be happy for me that I’m finally looking better!”

“Vanessa,” Hermann says desperately, “you look like my grandparents after they escaped from the ghetto. It’s not healthy, and it’s certainly not attractive!”

“How the hell would you know? You don’t even like girls!”

“I can understand basic appearance theory!” he shouts. “Why would you make yourself so unhappy?” Vanessa jerks her arm away.

“Because I like it, Hermann! I like being hungry all the time, and seeing my ribs, and knowing exactly what I put into my body! I’m actually happy with it now! For the first time in my fucking life, I actually _like_ my body! And yeah, I know what I’m doing to it is bad, but I don’t want to recover if it means gaining weight!”

Hermann looks horrified. “There is no possible way this could make you happy.”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, so why don’t you leave me alone?”

He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “What the bloody _hell_ does that mean?”

“You! Are! Skinny!” Vanessa screams at the top of her lungs, and Hermann takes a step back in shock. “You have _always_ been skinny, there has never been a moment where you were _not_ skinny! Do you know how much I used to weigh? A hundred and eighty pounds! You will never know what it’s like to look at yourself in the mirror and only see how goddamn fat you are! You’ve got a fucked up knee, sure, but you’ve made your peace with that! You can’t change it! But I saw what I didn’t like about myself and I knew I _could_! Hermann, if you could make yourself happier with your body, wouldn’t you at least _try_?”

Hermann opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, and Vanessa knows she’s right. He huffs defensively. “You’ve always had problems with self control, and this is just another instance of it manifesting. You don’t have to live this way, Vanessa. If you would just have some discipline--”

“Are you kidding me? Hermann, do you know how much control it takes to _not eat_? It’s not that I don’t get hungry-- usually I’m goddamn starving! But I have the ‘discipline’ to ignore it! Don’t fucking talk to me about self control!”

“I am just trying to help you--”

“I don’t _want_ your help! You don’t get to fucking tell me how to live my life--”

“You’re not going to have much of it left if you keep on like this!” Hermann replies. “Vanessa, people die from this! _You_ could die!”

“Who cares? I don’t see how that’s your problem--”

“Then you are selfish!” Hermann yells, and Vanessa goes silent. Her breath catches. 

“I-- _Selfish_?”

Hermann begins to pace. “I understand that you do not particularly care about whether or not you live or die, but I am begging you to consider the fact that your life does not only have value to you! What do you think would happen to me if you died? To Karla? Vanessa— please— can’t you understand that we love you? That we would miss you? If you live for nothing and no other reason, at least live for us!”

All the tension and fight drains instantly from her body. Vanessa feels tears welling up in her eyes, and she clenches her jaw to hold back a sob. “Hermann,” she says in half a cry, half a whisper, “I don’t know if I can stop.”

Hermann’s face softens. “Oh, ‘Nessa.” He closes the distance between them and draws her into a hug, resting his head on her clavicle. She can feel him wince at how bony it is. “I know. I don’t understand, but I know.”

She buries her face in his hair and cries, gripping his back tightly. He rubs circles on her shoulder blades, which poke out like wings. “It’s alright. We’ll find a way to fix this, I promise. I won’t let you do this alone.”

Vanessa holds him closer like a lifeline, the lightness in her body making her feel adrift in an endless sea. She reaches up to wipe at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, “I-- I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just scared. I don’t know what to do.” Hermann rocks back and forth on his heels; the motion is soothing.

“You don’t have to fight it alone anymore, dear. We’ll figure it out together.”

VI.  
The ballroom of the Hilton Tokyo Odaiba is decked out in various shades of white and gold, chandeliers and shiny streamers hanging from the ceiling. Guests are milling around in ridiculously expensive finery, mostly from the higher ranks of the PPDC and world government. Vanessa stands in a corner with Newt and Hermann (as their combined plus one) wearing a royal purple gown and jet-black kitten heels. Her hair is half in cornrows, half poofing out behind her head in a teased-up cloud. She takes a sip from her champagne glass. “If y’all think this is bad, you should go to one of the issue launch parties I get invited to. They do cocaine there.”

Hermann inhales sharply. “They— _what_?!”

Newt starts snickering as Vanessa nods, completely straight faced. “I saw Alex DeVaughn do a line off of King Princess’ bra cup. It was hot as fuck.”

“Don’t let Karla hear you say that,” Newt says, struggling to contain his laughter. “She’ll give you an extremely disappointed look.”

“Not likely. We fucked right after I got back.”

Newt gives up on hiding his grin, and outright cackles. Hermann is bright red, and wheezes heavily. “ _Vanessa_.”

She rolls her eyes. “Chillax, Herms. We both know my boobs are _that_ special. Get over yourself.”

“Heads up,” says Newt, adjusting his fifteen dollar tie, patterned with little boxes of ramen (the one concession in his otherwise respectable outfit). “Hoity-toities on your left. Look sharp.”

Indeed, walking straight towards them is a railrod-thin woman with obnoxiously highlighted blonde hair and her extremely red-faced husband, who appears to possess around four separate chins. Vanessa feels the tiniest little voice flare up in the back of her mind, instantly cataloguing the thickness of the woman’s wrists, the boniness of her ankles, the shape of her waist. She shakes her head and pushes the thoughts down. _Not now, buddy. We’re better than this_. 

“Dr. Geiszler,” says the man cooly. “You’re looking well.”

Newt swallows visibly. “Uh. Thanks. Do-- have we met before?”

He holds out his sweaty-looking hand. “James Dupoint, former representative for France. You and your colleague, Dr. Gottlieb, got into a shouting match while asking my country for funding. There was chalk thrown, I believe.”

Newt and Hermann both blush. “Ah,” says Hermann quickly, “Mr. Dupoint, have you met our friend, Vanessa Gottlieb? She’s a former model who now writes for Vogue.”

Vanessa gives them both a winning smile. “Pleasure to meet y’all.”

Mrs. Dupoint’s eyebrows raise. “Vanessa? My gracious, I remember seeing you several years ago!” She looks her up and down with a critical eye, gaze pausing on where Vanessa’s dress hugs her thighs. “You look so… different.”

Something sparks in Vanessa’s brain like a frayed wire, sending electrical shocks throughout her body. She suddenly becomes hyper aware of where her dress is tight, where her hips are curvy, where there’s less muscle and more fat. A ball of terrifyingly familiar anxiety lodges in her throat.

“Uh,” she says, wrestling with her lungs to keep her voice steady, “hey! Awesome! If you folks don’t mind, I’m gonna go touch up in the restroom. I’ll find you in a moment, okay?” Hermann glances at her oddly, not quite making the connection just yet (he will, he’s smart, give him a minute), but Vanessa doesn’t wait for an answer before walking very calmly away in the direction of the doors. 

She bursts out into the hallway and strides down it into the ladies’ room, slams a stall door shut, and slides down the wall onto the stupidly clean tiled floor. Her breaths come quick and panicked, and she digs her fingernails into her palms to keep from whimpering. Shame, hot and acidic, swirls in her stomach like a rolling ocean. She’s supposed to be over this. She’s in recovery. What the hell is going wrong?

The voice she’s worked so hard to keep quiet hisses in the forefront of her mind now: they’re looking at you, they’re staring at you, they don’t see power and muscle, they just see weakness. Fucking _pathetic_. She pointedly keeps her gaze to the floor and away from the toilet but her fingers twitch with wanting. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the stall door. A voice says quietly, “Vanessa? You okay?”

Her glitching brain recognizes it as Newt, and she manages to gasp out, “In here.”

Newt seems to pause outside for a second, before ducking down and crawling under the door. He unfolds himself to a sitting position across from Vanessa and gives her a worried look. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”

Vanessa shakes her head and nearly whines with frustration. “It’s-- fuck. Fuck!”

He frowns. “What exactly is ‘fuck’ here?”

“This!” she shouts. “Me-- everything! The fact that I’m in the fucking restroom of a hotel having a panic attack over the stupid comment of a bitch! I’m supposed to be over this; I’m supposed to be recovered! I did the work! I put in the goddamn effort! It’s been over ten fucking years, so why am I still upset about this?!”

A furious tear runs down her face, and she wipes at it carefully so as not to smudge her makeup. Newt lets his hand hover over her shoulder for a moment, before putting it down. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “What you’re feeling right now… must really suck, dude.”

Vanessa stamps her heel, a loud clicking noise echoing throughout the bathroom. “It’s not fair! I should be fucking okay!”

“Yeah,” says Newt, “you’d think that, huh?”

“I just don’t understand why this kind of thing can still hurt me, even after all this time!” She sniffs and messily wipes at her nose. “Did I just not recover as much as I thought?”

Newt presses his lips together and breathes out heavily through his nose. “Hmm,” he says, “okay. Do you want advice, or do you want to just vent?”

“If you’ve got advice, dude, I’m all _fucking_ ears.”

He nods. “Cool. So, I’m gonna tell you something my therapist told me when I asked her if she thought I was making progress: recovery doesn’t end. You don’t just get better and get to stop struggling and fighting and working towards being healthy. Every day is gonna be a battle. It gets easier as life goes on, and you’re gonna get better at dealing with stuff, but that doesn’t erase the fact that there are still gonna be things that just trigger you. Comments about your weight, for example. Literally any media at all involving mind control, for me. Which, not fair, because that rules out a fuck ton of Stark Trek episodes, but you get the point. But y’know what’s the most important thing?” He smiles. “Your struggles don’t erase all the progress you’ve made. One bad day doesn’t mean it was all for nothing. If anything, the fact that you’re dealing with it now in a healthy manner? Using your coping skills and not relapsing? That says a ton about how far you’ve come!”

Vanessa looks up and dabs at her eyes with her fingertips. “You think so?”

Newt gives her a slightly awkward thumbs up. “I know so. Dr. Jamie usually isn’t wrong.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Vanessa, glancing down at her feet, “by the way. For what happened when we boxed. I didn’t know things were… that bad. But I shouldn’t have pushed you. What happened wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry.”

Newt blushes a little. “I mean, it worked. It helped me.”

“The ends don’t always justify the means, Newt.” She blinks. “You don’t have to apologize when you were the one that was hurt.”

“I-- I guess.”

“Newt. Seriously.” She reaches over and pats his knee. “It wasn’t your fault. There’s no need to apologize. Okay?”

Newt smiles. “Uh. Okay. Sure.” He gives her a once over, not judging like Mrs. Dupoint’s was, but infinitely caring. “You need a minute before we go back in?”

Vanessa takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Nah. My makeup is mostly waterproof. And y’know what? Fuck it! I’m prettier than her, and I can deadlift like, one-twenty. There’s no way her weak-ass muscles can do that.”

Newt huffs out a laugh. “Sounds like a good plan.” He gets to his feet and holds out a hand to her. “Ready?”

Vanessa takes it and pulls herself up. She smooths out the lines of her dress, shakes out her hair, and rolls back her shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s go milk these motherfuckers for all the funding they’re worth.”

VII.

Newt moves the knife up and down systematically, chopping the bell pepper into thin slices. The kitchen in his and Hermann’s new apartment smells of spices and cooking vegetables. Onions sizzle in a pan on the stove, caramelizing into a light brown. Three chicken breasts, smothered with olive oil and seasoning, lay on one side of the cutting board. A pocket has been cut in each one, and inside is cream cheese and scallions mixed together. Newt finishes chopping the pepper and drops the slices into the pan with the onions. He pokes them around with a spatula.

Hermann comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Newt’s waist. He tilts his head up and rests it on top of Newt’s. “It smells wonderful, dear.”

Newt grins and pokes the onions and peppers some more. “Thanks. Where’s Vanessa?”

“In the living room folding all of our blankets into military corners,” says Hermann fondly. Newt frowns.

“Isn’t she supposed to be resisting her obsessive compulsive desires?”

“Do you want to be the one to tell her to stop?”

Newt laughs. “Good point. Hey, tell me if the mix is good.” He holds up the spatula to Hermann’s mouth, and Hermann gives it a cautious lick. Then, he makes a pleased little noise.

“That’s delicious. What are you making?”

“Uh,” says Newt, turning over a pepper, “stuffed garlic chicken with vegetables. I found it on Buzzfeed; it’s supposed to be really good. Y’think she’ll like it?”

Hermann nods. “Mmhm. Then again, the fact that it’s made with cheese already gives you an advantage.”

“She wants to take me to a dairy farm sometime. Probably making up for the fact that I used to be vegan.” He sticks his tongue out. “God, what an asshole possessed-me was.”

Vanessa appears in the doorway to the kitchen, dusting her hands on her jeans. “Y’all have piss-poor blanket organization,” she says with aplomb. “Thank God for me.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “One extreme to another,” he says, and begins to scoop up the onions and peppers to put in a ceramic bowl. “I’ve got chicken about to go in the pan if you wouldn’t mind carrying the vegetables to the table.”

“Sure,” she says, and takes the bowl from the counter. “Smells nice,”

He takes a deep whiff of the sizzling oils, spices, and food. “Yeah, it really does, huh?”

Hermann smiles and leans down to press a kiss just below his Newt’s ear. “I’m proud of you,” he says warmly. “You look so much healthier now, darling, you really do. Excellent job.”

Newt goes pink at the praise (this might be a thing for him now). “Thanks, Herms. I’m just glad I can be better for you.”

Vanessa reenters the kitchen and leans against the counter. “That’s good thinking. If you can’t make yourself get better for you, other people needing you always helps. That’s how it worked for me.” She spreads her hands and nods to indicate how well it worked. “Like, pardon the language, but: bazinga.”

“I think that’s part of it,” says Newt. “And that’s love, too.” He pauses. “I think… I think love is cooking together. I think, for me, it’s food on the table and creating something from nothing, and enjoying that something with your family. That’s what I think it is.”

“I mean,” says Vanessa, “I’m southern, so-- yeah. Right on the nose there, buddy.” She laughs, and it sounds like running water, and blooming flowers, and an apple pie fresh out of the oven. It makes Newt feel home, and happy, and full.

He doesn’t mind that last thing, now.


End file.
